


Down for the Count

by julienwrites



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Mentions of Hallie, Season 8, Sickfic, Talks About Childhoods, mentions of vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28719681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julienwrites/pseuds/julienwrites
Summary: “Are you okay? You look tired..”“Just what every girl wants to hear,” she jokes, and Matt flushes pink, eyes widening. Sylvie almost laughs.“No, no, I didn’t mean...you just…”The paramedic cuts him off, deciding to save him. “I was joking. It’s okay,” she assures. “Honestly? I’m not feeling that great.” Admitting it to Matt seems simpler than trying to lie. She’s never lied to him before and she’s not going to start now.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 25
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In which Sylvie gets sick and Matt helps. 
> 
> //
> 
> Finally, one day until the new CF episode!! After seeing that one preview scene of Sylvie and Matt talking in the office, I have a feeling we're all going to be in need of some fluff, so I thought some soft sickfic would be a good choice, especially since there aren't any Sylvie centric sickfics. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! This is set in the later part of season eight. I may or may not write a second part to this where Matt falls victim to Sylvie's germs. There is mentions of vomiting in this, but it doesn't go into detail at all, it was mostly used as a segway into getting Matt to get on her bed. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you have any prompts/requests or think I should write a second part! And my tumblr is @roberttchase :)

They’re coming back from a run when Sylvie notices her throat’s sore. It’s nearing three in the morning, and the residual adrenaline from being woken up by the alarm and then helping a man who’s fallen down the stairs is wearing off. Swallowing, her throat stings, and her glands on either side of her neck feel swollen. She subtly presses her fingertips to the right upper area of her neck, biting down on her lip when the area throbs, tender and aching. 

Foster doesn’t seem to notice, for which she’s grateful. The blonde doesn’t have the energy to try and deal with questions, only wanting to lay back down in her bunk and rest until the inevitable next call. Sylvie stays silent until they’re pulling back into the firehouse, but that’s not unusual either, especially for a call as late as this one. She definitely feels off. 

Hopping out of the ambo, she can feel a tired heaviness settle over her bones, the wind from outside causing her to shiver while she walks to shut the app door. Hitting the button, the blonde's small frame trembles again, making her sigh. Heading in with her partner, Sylvie grabs the first protein bar she sees and rips it open, forcing herself to take a bite even if she’s far from hungry. Swallowing only makes her throat hurt worse, and the ache in her glands intensifies.  _ Wonderful _ . She notices Tony and Capp, who’d drawn night duty, are gone, which means Squad has been called out. 

Half a bar later, Sylvie’s still holding onto hope that how she’s feeling is a result from the sudden excitement and blood sugar drop. Tucking the other half of the bar in her jacket pocket, the paramedic heads back to the bunk room, surprised to see Matt’s light is still on in his quarters. She doesn’t remember it being on when she’d rocketed out of the uncomfortable bed two hours prior. Half of her wants to check and see if he’s alright, but the other half, the tired and worn thin half sends her to her bunk, eyes shutting before Sylvie thinks much more about the handsome blonde Captain. 

She doesn’t see the light click off a few minutes later. 

The sound of movement wakes her up. Slowly, the paramedic registers it as people getting up, making her open her eyes and squint at the clock on the wall. Seven thirty. Half an hour left. Shifting, Sylvie notices her throat’s no better, and now she’s achy, still feeling generally off and body still heavy. A dull throb echoes through her skull. Sitting up, she feels chilled, and the movement feels slow. Closing her bright blue eyes, Sylvie takes a moment to collect herself, breathing out a slow breath as her body shivers. Footsteps approach. 

“You okay?” 

Stella is moving to sit on her bunk, the one to the right of Sylvie’s, frowning. The blonde opens her eyes, nodding. 

“Yeah, just feel a little off,” she offers some truth, crossing her arms and using her hands to rub them up and down to attempt to gain some warmth. Smiling, the girl stands, trying to ignore her best friend's skepticism. “Is Squad back?” 

“We got less than two hours, then you can go home and collapse into a bed with actual sheets and no alarms that can blare,” Stella jokes then gives a nod. “Yeah, they just got back, apparently it was a rougher call than they’d anticipated,” she explains. “Nothing too bad, but longer and more intense,” Stella adds when Sylvie’s brow furrows. At least no one got hurt then. 

Standing, Sylvie tries to ignore how sluggish she feels, like any previous energy she’s had has vanished. Stella gives her a raised eyebrow and she chooses to ignore it, instead fixing her bunk back. 

Glancing over, the blonde sees Matt’s light is off in his office, no one inside. Just as she’s turning back around, Herrmann and Mouch walk through the door, a crooked smile on the Lieutenant's face. 

“Look who’s  _ finally _ up! Thought you were going to sleep through the end of shift,” he teases, shaking his head. 

Rolling her eyes fondly, Sylvie huffs. “Very funny. No, we had a two am call, lasted almost two hours,” she explains, pulling her watch back on and grabbing her water bottle, taking a sip. Her throat prickles and she clears it, sending pain everywhere. 

“Damn, that’s always rough. Hopefully nothing too bad?” Mouch shoots her a sympathetic look. 

“Old man fell down the stairs, but didn’t hurt himself too bad. Definitely going to be bruised and sore for a while,” Sylvie says as she sees a few third shift guys moving to the locker room. Thank god, she’s ready to go home and sleep. 

The four firefighters head to go change, and the paramedic wastes no time grabbing her bag to head out. Normally she’d stay and chat but with the way she’s feeling she knows she probably shouldn’t hang around more than necessary. Germs always tend to spread through the firehouse like wildfire. 

As Sylvie walks out onto the apparatus floor to leave, she nearly runs into Matt who’s leaving too, the Captain’s reflexes quick enough he’s able to move out of her way. 

“Sorry!” 

“My bad!” 

They give each other a smile, and Matt breathes in, obviously about to ask a question. 

“Do you want to grab some breakfast? There’s that new place over on Wabash,” the man looks hopeful and it makes her heart flutter a bit, the idea of a breakfast just the two of them. She’s brought back to reality when her body gives an aching throb, as if to remind her. 

When she smiles this time, it’s more sorry, and it must not reach her eyes, because Matt’s smile drops and his brows furrow in worry. She doesn’t understand how he’s so attractive, or how she hasn’t lost it and pushed him against a wall and kissed him. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this though, and Sylvie clears her throat. 

“If not though, it’s fine,” Matt says hastily, but then his eyes take over her, and his frown deepens. “Are you okay? You look tired..” 

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” she jokes, and Matt flushes pink, eyes widening. Sylvie almost laughs. 

“No, no, I  _ didn’t _ mean...you just…” 

The paramedic cuts him off, deciding to save him. “I was joking. It’s okay,” she assures. “Honestly? I’m not feeling that great.” Admitting it to Matt seems simpler than trying to lie. She’s never lied to him before and she’s not going to start now. 

“Oh,” the frown deepens, and Sylvie hates that she’s the reason it’s there. “Do you need a ride home? I don’t mind.” 

The sheer courtesy and kindness of him truly astounds her sometimes. In the back of her head, Sylvie wonders if he’d do the same for Foster or any other member of their 51 family. 

“No, it’s okay, but thank you Matt. I’m okay, just feel kind of gross and tired.” It isn’t a lie, but she doesn’t admit just  _ how _ gross she feels, not wanting to worry or bother him. 

Matt takes a step forward and she can smell his cologne and soap, a smell that’s grown to be comforting after spending so much time with him. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure,” Sylvie gives him a genuine smile this time, touched by his generosity. If she’s being truthful to herself, she wants nothing more than to be driven home by the Captain and curl up against him to take a nap, but that’s definitely not happening anytime soon. She can dream though. 

“Okay….text me when you get home? Just so I know you didn’t end up in a ditch somewhere from falling asleep?” His tone is light but Sylvie knows he’s serious. She knows he has a tendency to worry, especially about his friends. 

“I think I can do that.” 

They continue walking and part ways at the end of the concrete driveway, Matt going left to his truck, and her to the right to her car. Once Sylvie’s buckled up, she lets thoughts of Matt take over while heading home, wondering what it would feel like to be held in his arms. She’d had a small taste when she’d been crying in his quarters earlier that year, but the circumstances obviously hadn’t allowed her to even half realize he’d done so, too preoccupied from Julia and her baby sister and Scott. 

When Sylvie sets her bag down in her bedroom, the paramedic fishes out her phone and shoots Matt a quick text, coughing into her arm afterwards. It’s painful and reminds her to change and head to bed, though the blonde heads to her kitchen first, filling her water bottle up. Logically she knows she should eat something and keep energy in her body, but the tug of sleep is too strong, and she really isn’t hungry. 

It’s times like these that she wishes she had a dog. A boyfriend would be nicer, but she doesn’t think she’ll be with anyone anytime soon thanks to this crush on Matt. A dog she could cuddle and it would know something was wrong so it wouldn’t leave her side. Yawning, Sylvie heads back to her bedroom and changes into sweatpants and an old long sleeve shirt that’s well worn and one of her favorite sick day go-to’s. 

Head hitting the pillow, Sylvie falls asleep quickly, exhaustion taking over. 

\+ + + 

Someone’s in her apartment. Sylvie’s awake for less than ten seconds when she hears the water running, and the hairs on her arms stick up in sudden alertness. Standing, adrenaline coursing through her, she grabs her dad's old metal baseball bat she has in her room for if something like this ever happened, then slides out her bedroom door. Standing in her small kitchen is a man with a jacket on, hood up. This is actually happening. 

Her fevered brain doesn’t register that they’re not stealing anything, that they’re  _ cooking _ , instead, all she’s focused on is a random man in her house. Heart beating fast, hands only slightly shaking, the blonde moves forward, but then the man turns around and freezes, which makes Sylvie freeze too. 

“Sylvie, what’re you doing?” 

Matt’s standing in her kitchen with sweatpants on, an old grey fire academy sweatshirt hanging off his frame. He looks worried and nervous and concerned, and all at once every ounce of fight leaves Sylvie’s body, leaving her feeling weak. The firefighter moves forward and takes the bat from her hands, moving her to her blue couch. 

“Hey, Sylvie, are you _okay_?” 

Blinking tiredly, she watches Matt, brain muddled and confused. 

“You’re in my house…” Looking around, she sees a pot on the stove, and grocery bags on the counter. “You’re cooking.” 

“Yeah, I uh...I let myself in,” Matt looks sheepish, but her brain is still focused on the fact Matt’s sitting next to her. Why is he here? “You didn’t answer your phone and I know you weren’t feeling well. Thought you might want some soup...I guess it was kind of a bad idea,” his eyes flicker to the baseball bat now laying on the floor. 

“...how’d you get in?” She feels far off, yet intensely in tune with everything at the same time. 

“You gave me a key for when I did that window repair for you while you were in Fowlerton a few months ago. I forgot to give it back.” 

His voice is slow and cautious, like she’s a scared animal. Sylvie doesn’t have time to think it over, instead she starts coughing, bringing her arm up quickly and reflexively, turning away from him. 

“Let me get you water.” 

She stops coughing when Matt’s filling the water up from her fridge, but Sylvie readily accepts it, wincing as she swallows. The Captain takes it back when she decides she’s done, shivering and head pounding, wanting to shut her eyes again. But Matt’s there. 

“You’re making me soup?” She asks, remembering his previous words. Matt’s eyes find hers and nods, still looking a little shy. 

“If you want me to.” His voice is soft and Sylvie nods, sleep tugging at her again. “How’re you feeling? Have you taken anything? It’s almost four, so if you took anything you’ll be due in an hour to take more.” 

She slept seven hours? She feels like she thirty minutes, if that. Shivering again, Sylvie tries to make sense of everything. Her brain kickstarts a bit, as if it’s buffering, and then the paramedic purses her lips. “Kind of terrible...throat and head hurt, feel achy, tired, kind of gross. I haven’t taken anything. I’m so tired...all I wanted to do was sleep.” 

Matt looks like he wasn’t to say something, but chooses not to, instead he leans forward and Sylvie’s almost certain he’s going to kiss her, but then his hand connects with her forehead, sweeping hair away and then feeling the skin with his palm to check for a fever. 

“Well you’re definitely warm, do you have a thermometer? We should keep an eye on it.” 

_ We _ . Sylvie smiles to herself at that, then realizes Matt’s looking at her with a worried expression again. He’d asked a question. Right. 

“Uhm...in my bathroom, under the sink.” 

The firefighter leaves, making Sylvie frown. She’s cold and tired and wants him to come back. He makes her feel better just by talking and being there. A minute later Matt appears with a blanket from her bed and the thermometer in one hand, and a very raggedy, very well loved little black cat plush. Sylvie is only half mortified, fever making her too sick to truly care. 

“I hope you don’t mind I went into your bedroom,” Matt’s voice reminds her of her little brother when he would do something he knew he shouldn’t have done and got caught. It’s adorable when it’s coming from the grown man. “And I brought this little guy, he seemed like he wanted company.” Okay,  _ that _ makes her a little more mortified. 

“It’s fine,” Sylvie assures, and it’s true. She trusts Matt implicitly, knows he wouldn’t ever cross boundaries or make her feel uncomfortable. But embarrassed is a whole other story. Staring at the stuffed animal, she takes it and sets it next to her, though her left hand stays on top of it. She feels heat rise to her already warm face, and Sylvie can’t help but duck a bit, feeling ridiculous. “I know it’s silly that I sleep wit-“ 

“It’s not, I promise. It’s cute,” the blonde assures, then a blush rises on his face too. “I had a stuffed animal, but uh..” Matt licks his lips. “My dad took it away when I turned ten, didn’t like me having it.” 

Something about the way he says it makes Sylvie’s chest ache. She knows little about his family, just what she learned through his alderman campaign. She’s certain there’s more than he’s ever let on, why his mom snapped, what his dad did. Sylvie can only assume it’s what’s left him always struggling to share his feelings, what makes him keep things bottled up until they explode. Her head throbs when Matt crouches, and the paramedic realizes she’s stretched out on the couch now, lying down instead of sitting. 

“What was it? Your stuffed animal?” Her voice sounds raw and inflamed, and she coughs into her shoulder before taking the plastic instrument from Matt’s hand, slipping it under her tongue when it’s on and ready. 

“It was a little polar bear, white with a stitched pink nose. Christie gave him to me when I was just a baby.” The way Matt mentions the detail about the bear's nose makes Sylvie know it had probably been his favorite part. She can picture a little Matt curling up in bed with it, stroking the little threads for comfort as he tries to sleep, a comfort of sorts, like most kids with a lovey do. 

“What was his name?” She asks around the thermometer, earning a pointed look from the man before he goes shy again. 

“...Bear. A  _ very _ creative name, I know.” 

Sylvie doesn’t expect anything less, if she’s honest. It confirms that Matt’s always been logical and calculating, no nonsense and straight forward. She wonders what he was like as a kid, if he preferred reading and learning things over drawing and pretending, the opposite of her childhood, full of coloring books and tea parties and dress up bins. 

Brought out of her thoughts when the thermometer beeps, Sylvie pulls it out and both she and Matt look at the little screen that’s glowing red, the numbers ‘101.4’ popping up on the screen. She watches Matt frown as he takes the instrument and sets it on a tissue on the coffee table. 

“You must feel  _ awful _ . I thought you might want to lay out here but we can get you back in bed if you want.” 

There’s that ‘ _ we’ _ again. 

“I’d rather be out here,” she admits, head laying against the arm rest. She pulls her large blanket closer, eyes drooping. Barely aware Matt’s walking away, she opens her eyes when a pillow is being slid under her head, Matt being as gentle as possible. 

“Just rest, I’m going to get you some medicine, then work on the soup. Did you want the tv on?” Shifting, he grabs the remote from the table in front of her, setting it down within her reach. 

Nodding, wincing at the tenderness of her glands, she clicks the tv on and flips to Pirates of the Caribbean, a movie she’s seen enough times she doesn’t need to be able to pay attention. She’s given Motrin and then turns the movie back on, letting it play after having hit pause when the firefighter had approached with the pills. Matt looks up from where he’s standing over in the kitchen now, chopping celery into tiny pieces. 

“I used to have a huge crush on Keira Knightley when I was younger. Ask Severide, it’s almost stupid how into her I was. I watched every movie she’d been in.” He’s blushing, she can see it faintly from her view on the couch. 

“Really? I didn’t peg her as your type,” Sylvie admits, fever taking away her filter. She really hadn’t ever imagined Matt being into a girl like that. Gabby’s the anti-Keira, and though she’s only seen one photo of Hallie; the one that sits in his quarters at the firehouse, she’d seemed wildly different in at least the looks category. 

“I guess I just like bad ass blondes,” the Captain admits, and Sylvie’s eyes snap up to his, holding the gaze for a moment before she has to drop it, coughing again into her arm. What a way to ruin the mood. 

Comfortable silence falls over them as Matt works on the soup and they watch the movie. Sylvie starts drifting around the time Will decides to break Jack out of jail, body too tired to keep itself awake any longer. 

When she wakes again, her body  _ hurts _ . She feels like she’s been in a car wreck, like something has run her over and then backed up for extra measure. Her body feels hyper sensitive, skin aching uncomfortably. She’s freezing, enough so that remembers she has a blanket and she can bring it closer to her body. One hand finds her plush cat, the other she brings to her mouth, coughing into it. Sylvie knows it’s not sanitary, but she really hasn’t felt this awful since she was in her early twenties, body weak from whatever she’s managed to catch.

“You’re awake. How’re you feeling?” 

She turns her head and sees Matt sitting at the end of her couch, one hand on her lower shin and upper ankle, focused solely on her. Briefly, Sylvie wonders if this is a dream, but soon remembers he’s actually in her apartment, and she gives him a grimace. 

“That bad?” Matt gives a sympathetic look and rubs her leg in comfort. “You probably have the flu, it’s been bad this year,” he offers, and Sylvie wishes she could shift positions and curl up against him. She’s certain he’d be comfortable, and he’s always warm on the occasions she’s been close enough to tell. Her body shivers as if to laugh at the idea. 

“Everyone’s going to catch this,” she realizes, and Matt shrugs. 

“Don’t worry about that. Just worry about resting, that’s the most important thing right now.” Matt says it so seriously and intensely that Sylvie actually believes him, though it could just be she’s tired enough she doesn’t have the energy to worry. 

“What time is it?” 

“Almost seven, do you feel up to some soup? Even if it’s just a little bit?” 

Again, her whole concept of time is thrown off. Hadn’t it just been four? Rubbing her face, Sylvie sighs and shrugs. “I’m not really hungry and swallowing hurts…” she admits, coughing away from the Captain. Matt hums in thought. 

“Lemme try something okay? And if you don’t like it, we can try something else. You need to get something in you, you probably haven’t eaten since back on shift,” the blonde thinks out loud. Sylvie starts drifting again, only opening her eyes when Matt’s back in front of her. In his hands there’s a mug with a straw, and a little applesauce cup with a spoon. 

“Try drinking this,” Matt puts the mug close to her. “I’ll hold it for you,” he adds, and though Sylvie would normally fight him on it, today she merely shifts and takes a very small, hesitant sip of whatever’s in the mug. Chicken soup, but only the broth, her brain supplies. He’s given her the soup he made, but it’s been strained of everything but the actual broth. It still hurts like a bitch to swallow, but she can feel the warmth coating her throat, which feels nice. 

“Good?” 

Looking up, Sylvie nods, even though it makes her glands scream in protest. “Yeah. It really is, thank you.” Even as she talks her eyes are getting heavy. The paramedic manages to get half the mug down before she finally has to stop, not the least bit hungry anymore. 

“Save the rest of the mug and the applesauce. I’ll eat it later,” she assures, though Sylvie’s sure she probably won’t. Though she’s never actually had the flu, she knows the second and third days are always the worst, and if she’s feeling this bad already she can only imagine how awful she’s going to feel tomorrow. 

Matt does as he’s told, putting tin foil on both tops and sticking them in the fridge, before heading back to the couch. 

“You never told me what your cat's name is. I have a feeling it’s better than Cat,” Matt jokes, and Sylvie looks up, fingers running across the cats worn thin material. 

“Binx, like from Hocus Pocus,” she explains. “It was my favorite movie when I was a kid. I wanted to be just like Danni. I was 5 when it came out and my parents were impressed I wasn’t scared of Billy,” she smiles tiredly at the memory. When she looks at Matt, she smiles, seeing utter confusion written all over his face. 

“I don’t know what that is.” 

Sylvie gives him a look that she hopes is scary, but with how sick she is she’s doubtful it would scare anyone. “It’s a movie. There’s a cat in it, Binx. He was a human but got turned into a cat when he went up against the Sanderson sisters,” she explains, coughing harshly after. Matt grabs her the water bottle sitting on the coffee table. 

“Don’t talk anymore, it just makes you cough,” Matt frowns, leaning over to feel her forehead. “Maybe we can watch the movie later. For now, how about we get you in bed so you can asleep more.” 

Being in her bed  _ does _ sound nice, her back is getting a little sore from the lack of support in the couch cushions. She nods and feels her body protest and she actually starts to stand, a little dizzy and lightheaded, bones aching to her core. Matt’s arm is around her waist in seconds, allowing her to sag into him, eyes barely open. 

“Sylvie, will you be okay to walk?” The man's voice is full of worry, and it’s only now that she realizes she’s barely upright, even in his arms. 

Instead of talking, she merely makes a small noise which she hopes Matt takes to be a yes. They walk slowly, the firefighter keeping her close as they make the twenty foot five foot trek to her bedroom. Crawling under the covers, Sylvie’s body deflates. When Matt’s hand is on her forehead again, the paramedic leans into it, the coolness against her overly warm face feeling like heaven. Her face is hot, but her body is freezing. She hates it. 

Matt sits on her bed, one hand resting on her lower leg as he looks at her. She wishes more than anything he could come and wrap his arms around her, pet her hair and rub her back. Sylvie’s always loved back rubs, ever since she was a kid. When she was sick her parents would stick her in their bed, where movies all day were allowed. Her mom would rub her back and read her stories when the little blonde’s eyes got too tired to stay open. The Little Princess had been her favorite. 

“-lvie? Syl…” 

Blinking and looking up, she realizes Matt’s been trying to get her attention. His blue eyes are trained on hers, brow furrowed, though that seems to be a permanent look today. 

“Sorry, was just thinking,” she explains, smiling when Matt fusses with her blankets and sets Binx right next to her. “M’tired.” 

“I bet. Try and sleep okay? I’ll be here if you need anything.” She half registers what he says as she presses her face into his pillow, already starting to fall asleep again. 

\+ + + 

_ It’s dark. They’re watching some scary movie on the couch. Sylvie’s securely tucked under Matt’s arm as the woman on the screen screams, a man with a mask coming out from behind the wall. Horror’s never really been her thing, she doesn’t mind it necessarily, but it’s not something she instantly goes to. When the man walks towards the woman, the blonde’s grip tightens on Matt’s shirt, causing him to look down at her.  _

_ “Okay?”  _

_ “M-Mhm, yeah,” she hopes it’s convincing, but it’s obviously not, not to the Captain at least. Before she can say anything else, he’s leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then her lips. She kisses back, nuzzling his shoulder afterwards. It’s nice, being this domestic. She slips her fingers in between his, causing both of them to smile.  _

_ “We can change it if you want,” Matt speaks up a minute later, when she squeezes his hand as the woman gets her throat slit.  _

_ Shaking her head, Sylvie merely tugs his arm closer. “I’m okay,” she assures again, but this time Matt pauses it, the tv freezing on an image of the man cutting the woman in half with a chainsaw. Her stomach flips warningly, making her fidget.  _

_ “You sure? You look a little pale…”  _

_ Sylvie can’t argue, not because she doesn’t want to, but because her eyes are glued to the tv and she feels like she’s on a boat. She blinks, and suddenly she is, wood underneath her feet, salty wind blowing her hair. She looks around and sees Matt, tan skinned and red cheeked, walking towards her. Her stomach sloshes, but her mind is more focused on how handsome the man approaching is.  _

_ He’s got a bandana in his hair, pushing back hair that usually falls onto his forehead. It’s slightly lighter too, bleached from the sun. Tattoo’s cover his arms, miscellaneous drawings and words, eyes raking through them all until she sees a ‘P’ that looks branded on, the same color as him, skin tight and pulled around it.  _

_ “You’re a pirate…”  _

_ As if she’s just now seeing it, Sylvie takes in his clothes, weathered and dirty. His shirts billowing from his chest, and there’s a gold chain around his neck.  _

_ “...of course I am love, are you alright?” The words don’t come out right, don’t sound right in her ears. It’s not Matt’s voice. Or...it is, but it’s not his Midwestern accent, it’s British, and strangely attractive. At that moment, her stomach sloshes again and the urge to be sick is overwhelming.  _

_ “Sylvie, are you alright?”  _

\+ + +

“Sylvie, are you alright?” 

Opening her eyes, Sylvie sees Matt crouching down against the bed next to her, one hand on her shoulder. Nausea slams into her and Matt’s suddenly moving, grabbing a small trash can near her desk and flipping it upside down. A few papers and a protein bar wrapper falling to the ground. The blonde coughs, then gags, and Matt; much like a superhero doing his job, swoops in with the plastic bin and then Sylvie’s getting sick. It feels like hours, though it’s barely thirty seconds. She feels overwhelmingly hot and shaky, her head is throbbing from the force of sitting up and leaning forward. 

Dimly, she realizes there’s a tissue being wiped against her mouth, and a hand rubbing against her back. Finally opening her eyes, Matt’s right there, trash can sitting on the bed while he holds the tissue that’s obviously been used on her. She’s half embarrassed and half grateful. 

“Here, just take a tiny sip, rinse your mouth out. Don’t swallow,” he advises, holding the trash can out enough she can reach it but not close enough for it to bother her. He hands her the water bottle which she accepts with a shaky hand, tipping the smallest amount into her mouth and swishing, then spitting it out. 

“S-Sorry…” Her throat screams in protest as she talks, the acid making everything worse. 

Matt shoots her an incredulous look. “Sylvie, you’re really sick. It’s  _ fine _ , I promise. How’re you feeling? Still need this or can I go rinse it out?” 

“I don’t know.” She really doesn’t. Her stomach still feels weird, and the woman really doesn’t feel like having to deal with cleaning up her sheets while feeling this sick, or taking a shower. 

Nodding, Matt rounds the bed to the other side, still dutifully holding the trash can, keeping it at an arm's length. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Right, he’s been crouched on the floor for over ten minutes. Sylvie knows he’s fit and in shape, but that’s got to be uncomfortable even for him. “Of course.” She gestures tiredly to the space beside her. Her brain reminds her this is Matt Casey, sitting on her bed, taking care of her. Is she still dreaming? 

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when her stomach suddenly gives another wave of nausea, barely a warning. Leaning forward, she repeats the process, unaware of Matt holding her hair back or murmuring softly that she’s doing great, that it’ll be okay. She comes back to her body while Matt’s wiping her face again, making her grimace a little. He definitely shouldn’t be doing something so gross. She wants to protest and tell him not to, but she’s too tired. 

All Sylvie can do is sag against the man, vaguely surprised when he doesn’t move away, instead wrapping an arm around her and keeping her close. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, not daring to move, her stomach settling. She can feel Matt nod as he makes a little noise. 

“You’re lucky you’re so sweet,” he jokes lightheartedly. “I’m not usually very good with the whole getting sick thing. As a kid I used to be a sympathy puker,” the Captain admits. “Even with Hallie and Gabby it was tough.” 

She tells herself not to read into it, the fact he seems to be okay with taking care of her when he couldn’t even help his exes. As her stomach settles, she gets handed her water bottle again, tentatively washing her mouth out. 

“I think I’m okay now,” Sylvie decides after a few more minutes. She feels Matt shift, her eyes still closed, and then she’s no longer got his arm wrapped around her, instead she hears footsteps leaving her room, and the bathtub turning on. Moments later he’s back, but when she opens her eyes, she sees he’s standing by the bed, the waste bin now on the floor. 

“Mind if I stay here instead of out there? I don’t want you to be alone if it happens again?” Matt fidgets with his hands, looking worried and shy. When she nods, he gets right back on top of her covers and goes back to his prior position, carefully putting his arm around her again. She’s not sure what she did to deserve Matt, even if they’re just friends. She’s not sure she’s ever met a kinder, sweeter, more genuine person in her life. 

Throughout the night Sylvie is woken up and given medicine or her temperature is checked, though by morning she doesn’t really remember, everything hazy and brain fuzzy. When she wakes up, an audible whine escapes her lips before she can even open her eyes. God she feels awful. Every inch of her aches, her throat more swollen, and head pounding. Turning, she pries her eyes open, feeling like she’s in molasses. 

Matt’s asleep next to her, left arm still half around her, fingertips brushing her shoulder. He looks years younger with his eyes shut and breaths even. There’s no worry lines on his face, and he looks peaceful, not like he’s carrying the weight of the world like usual. Though she wants to continue to stare at him and ogle over how handsome the firefighter is, Sylvie needs to use the restroom. It takes her a few minutes to fully get up, but she quietly pads to her bathroom, coming out a minute later feeling thoroughly exhausted and weak just from the simple task, hands damp from washing them. 

The man’s awake when she walks back into her bedroom, sitting up, his face bleary from sleep. If she wasn’t so sick she’d want to take a photo. 

“Hey, you okay?” Matt’s voice is low and raspy from disuse, and he clears his throat, still looking at her. 

“Define okay,” she jokes, but it falls flat as she gets back under her covers, shivering. It’s then that Sylvie sees that Matt’s still laying on top of her sheets, which makes her heart flip. Always a gentleman. “I just went to use the restroom. And yet somehow it made me even more exhausted.” 

“That’s what happens when you’re sick,” he teases, giving her a smile. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything you want?” 

Sylvie closes her eyes, letting out a breath. “You.” 

They both freeze, and her eyes snap open. 

“ _ You _ ...you don’t have to stay, I’m sure you want to go home and relax…” she coughs, feeling like an idiot.  _ Really _ smooth Brett. 

Matt’s tense form relaxes and he shakes his head, a slight smile on his lips. “Honestly, I’d rather be taking care of you,” he admits, and Sylvie feels her heart beat faster. “I really don’t want you dying on me, I kind of need you around.” 

The words seem significant, like there’s an underlying meaning. But again, her fever addled mind can’t fully wrap itself around them. Instead of thinking about it, Sylvie merely lays back against her pillow, another shiver working its way through her body. 

“You can have more medicine in half an hour. Hopefully that’ll help with the chills,” Matt adds, then, like some miracle, he’s shifting and his arm snakes back around her shoulders. The smaller blonde leans into the feeling and sighs, falling back asleep, body desperate for it. 

\+ + +

The day is quiet and slow. Matt’s been trying to wrap his head around Sylvie saying ‘you’ when asked what she wanted. He’s not stupid, despite how his other relationships have played out. He knows that’s what she meant, and knows that she’s most likely aware he cares for her as more than just a friend. Today however isn’t the day to be thinking about things like being in a relationship with the woman that’s laying against him, sick and miserable. The Captain looks down at her, the paramedic that’s stolen his heart, and brushes hair off of her warm face, wanting nothing more than to take care of her as much as he can for the rest of his life. 

She feels less feverish, though still far too warm for his liking. Matt knows that he needs to get up and eat something, he’s not really eaten since early last night, and it’s almost two in the afternoon now. He’d made her toast earlier, coaxing her to eat half a piece and some applesauce, happy when she’d kept it down and then fallen back asleep. Matt hates seeing her so sick, hates that he can’t do anything, can only sit there and feel helpless as she coughs and shivers. Hallie had always been somewhat clinical in her approach to being sick, making sure she took her meds on time, resting and assuring Matt she had it under control. Gabby had been independent, mostly wanting her space when she didn’t feel well. Sylvie is different, and it’s something that, while he’ll never take pleasure in her being sick, is nice to be able to do, to provide comfort and dote on her a bit. 

They’re not dating, he reminds himself ,as he thinks about the differences. They’re only friends, even if he wants to be more. Matt wonders what Sylvie will think once her fever breaks and she’s fully capable of thinking clearly again. Will she be uncomfortable that he’s stayed so long, taken care of her this much? Swallowing, Matt pushes it all away and grabs his phone from the nightstand, scrolling to the food delivery app he usually reserves for when everyone at the firehouse wants something special. After placing an order from the cafe a few blocks away, he clicks his messages and pulls up the little group text he has with Severide and Kidd, knowing he should give them an explanation as to why he’s not been home. 

(Secretly, he knows it’s time for him to get his own place, he’s known for a while. He’s forty and still living with his best friend and his best friend's girlfriend. Though Matt doesn’t need to tell them, he wants to respect them and not have them worry, even if he doubts they really do.) 

_ Hey, Sylvie’s pretty sick _

Matt bites his lip and then deletes the words, catching his mistake. 

_ Hey, Brett’s pretty sick, stayed over to keep an eye on her fever, didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone. Would either of you be able to drop off a change of clothes for me?  _

That’s not weird right? It’s normal to stay over at a friends house when they’re sick. He’s done it before with Severide, so sure he’ll understand. Not a minute later, his phone buzzes. 

_ I KNEW you were at her place. That sucks she’s sick though. I’ll get Kelly to grab you some clothes and I’ll drop it by.  _

Matt sighs and rubs his face with his free hand. Of  _ course _ Stella is going to try and make this a thing. 

_ Thanks _ . 

By the time Kidd is knocking quietly on the front door, Matt’s sitting at the table scarfing down the past he’d ordered for himself. He’s silent for a moment, making sure Sylvie hasn’t woken up before he heads and opens it, giving the woman a weary smile when he spies the look on her face. 

“Thank you, seriously,” he leans against the doorjamb. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” she nods, then peaks over his shoulder. “How is she?” 

Matt purses his lips, running a hand through his hair. “Definitely has the flu. She’s miserable. She’s been running a temp at least since I got here, can barely stay awake more than half an hour. She got sick a few times last night too.” 

Stella winces, looking sympathetic. “ _ Damn _ that sucks. If anyone deserves to always be healthy it’s her.” She’s completely right, and Matt agrees. Sylvie shouldn’t ever be sick, she shouldn’t have to suffer through it. 

“Yeah...I need to go check on her, but thanks again. I’ll probably be home tomorrow, depending on how she is.” Shoving his hands in his sweatpant pockets, he feels suddenly silly for worrying over her so much, but he can’t stop it, can’t turn off the need to make sure she’s alright. 

“No problem. Sounds good, just tell her I hope she feels better.” 

With that, Stella goes back to her car, and Matt goes back to his pasta. He doesn’t mind days like this, especially with being a firefighter. A break is needed every once in a while. His days off are usually spent doing small construction jobs or going for runs, helping Severide with a case, or sometimes volunteering somewhere with Sylvie if she asks. He’s not had a day just to lay around and do nothing in ages. Finishing his pasta, he cleans up his mess and starts the dishwasher, then slides back into Sylvie’s room to lay down near her. 

It feels intimate, being this close to her, but Matt keeps himself on top of the covers, just using one of her blankets to cover him when he’s cold. He doesn’t want to disrespect her or her boundaries, especially when she’s sick. As he lays on the mattress, Sylvie shifts and her eyes open. Though they’re still beautifully blue, they’re unusually bright with fever, her cheeks flushed pink against paler than normal skin. 

“Hi.” Her voice is croaky, her throat obviously sore and inflamed. It makes Matt wince, rubbing her shoulder gently. It may not be much, but if even this bit of contact can comfort her, it’s worth doing. The paramedic hasn’t told him to stop or shrugged away, so he hopes it means it’s working. 

“Hey, I’d ask how you’re feeling, but..” Matt trails off, giving a smile. He’s sure he’s asked her at least half a dozen times since she’d gotten sick last night. Sylvie coughs away from him, rubbing at her face after. The Captain can tell she’s not feeling any better, not with how slow her movements are. It’s only the second day, he reminds himself. It’s going to get worse before it gets better. 

Matt can remember being nine and getting the flu, even now. He’d gone to school and by the time Mrs.Langley had announced it was time for recess, he’d shyly asked if he could stay inside with her. He knows now it had been an odd request, he’d always loved recess, and if he was a teacher, he would have done the same thing she’d done- feel his forehead and send him straight to the nurse. His mother had picked him up and gotten him resting, and when Christie had come home later that day, she’d let him lay in her bed and watch The Black Cauldron without complaining once about how it was ‘a dumb kids movie’. He’d ended up missing the whole week of school and even when he’d returned; fever free for over twenty four hours, he’d been exhausted by the end of the day. 

The paramedic moves slightly closer, and Matt automatically wraps an arm around her to provide comfort. “I feel like crap.” 

“I thought so. Do you want any water or gatorade? We need to make sure you keep yourself hydrated,” he keeps his voice low in case her head’s still hurting. 

“You know, you’d make a good paramedic,” Sylvie huffs. “...guess so.” 

Matt extracts himself and moves out the door and to the kitchen, taking out the blue gatorade he’d picked up at the store yesterday, uncapping it and adding a reusable straw. Heading back, he can hear her coughing and he can’t help but wince, sure it’s probably miserable on her throat. 

As Sylvie goes to take the drink, arms moving slowly, Matt holds the straw up close to her lips, deciding she’s probably weak enough that holding the full bottle might be a bad idea. She takes a few sips, and the fact that she doesn’t argue about not holding the plastic reaffirms to Matt just how sick she is. When Sylvie lays back against her pillow, he sets the drink down, watching her sigh. 

“I’m sorry you’re so sick, Kidd says she hopes you feel better,” Matt offers, hesitantly running a hand through her hair. His mind flashes back to her crying in his office, the first time he’d done the same motion. He wishes he’d be able to do it under circumstances that didn’t involve tears or fevers. When Sylvie leans into the touch, obviously tired even from just drinking, he continues, biting his tongue so he doesn’t start whispering pet names to her. Now  _ isn’t _ the time Casey, get control of yourself. 

“Just rest Sylvie, I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Matt’s aware he’s bad at communication and feelings, knows he keeps things bottled up inside and doesn’t always think before he acts. But he’s willing to do whatever it takes, he thinks, as he watches Sylvie fall asleep against his shoulder, to keep the paramedic in his life, and keep her safe. He knows she’s independent and a bad ass, she can take care of herself, but he hopes she knows he’s there for her no matter what. Maybe once she’s better he’ll tell her how he feels, because he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to last before it just falls out of his mouth. He wants to do it right this time around, wants this relationship to be built correctly because of things he’s learned. He wants a future with her. For now though, Matt’s going to settle for holding her while she’s sick, and focus on being whatever she needs. 


	2. Matt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvie returns the favor following being looked after by Matt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter / coda. Not as much from Matt's perspective, but I thought it worked well this way. Enjoy, and let me know what other stories or brettsey moments you'd like to read!

Sylvie’s finally feeling better; still a little weak and tired, but undeniably much more like herself. After laying around for six days, she’s finally ready to go out again, which is why tonight she’ll be heading to Molly’s for a bit. Her fever’s been broken for over twenty four hours, so she feels comfortable being around others, no longer contagious. Matt’s been at her apartment every day since she first came down with the flu. Yesterday he’d come back after the end of shift (which had been weird, her not being there), telling her about the calls they’d had. Instead of sleeping over though, he’d ended up heading back to the loft after Sylvie had insisted she was okay. She’d spent the previous night alone anyway, and she’d still been running a fever then. 

She spends the day washing her sheets and cleaning up around her apartment, wanting to make sure her home is de-germified. Sylvie’s heard stories of people recatching illnesses due to not disinfecting things, and she’s absolutely not going to be going through that misery again. 

As she finishes putting clean sheets on her bed, she hears her phone buzz across the room, and the blonde moves to get it, feeling just slightly more tired than usual from all the sudden exertion. 

_ Good morning! How’re you feeling? Hopefully better? _

Sylvie smiles to herself- always the gentleman. She wonders if Matt realizes he’s even doing it; being so kind and caring, or if it’s just absolute second nature to him. She guesses the latter. 

_ Good morning :) Way better today, able to actually move around and do things. Just finished putting some laundry in and making my bed. Have an appetite too. _

Waiting for a reply, she taps on her Pinterest icon, wanting to find something fun to make in the next few days, ready for life to return to normal. As Sylvie browses the many recipes, she gets a drop down notification. 

_ That’s great!! I actually have a small job I need to do today, an older guy needs help with his windows. But you said you wanted to go to Molly’s tonight right? Hopefully I’ll be able to make it and see you. _

Matt might  _ actually _ be the death of her. He wants to see her specifically? The blonde bites her lip, refusing to let herself smile as big as she wants to. He probably is going just for everyone, not just her. 

_ Yeah, I’ll be there! And that’s really nice of you Matt. I’m sure he’s very appreciative. I’ll see you tonight then _ . 

With butterflies in her stomach, Sylvie tells herself to relax. They’re just two adults going to the same place, seeing each other. Except Matt said he hopes he can see her. Damn. Swallowing, the paramedic hears her washer timer ding, and she’s pulled out of her thoughts. Right. Get life back to normal. Daydreams about her and Matt kissing aren’t what she needs to be thinking about. 

\+ + +

The past week has been long and tiring. Between shift and taking care of Sylvie, the idea of going and helping work on Allen Tate’s windows is the last thing Matt wants to do today. After shift had ended yesterday, he’d gone right back to the paramedics apartment, checking up on her and watching some silly comedy that he’d only been half interested in. Matt would have rather been holding her and playing with her hair, but instead he’d settled for her knee touching his, lost in fantasies about him and the small blonde curled up together in front of a fire. He’d told her all about their calls from the day prior, smiling and laughing as she’d reacted, somewhat tired but getting better. 

The bright spot in his cold, dreary day, is that Sylvie will be at Molly’s tonight, Matt thinks, as he loads up his truck with the tools he’s going to need for his job, rain drizzling from the sky that’s dark even as it nears noon. Shivering in the cold, Chicago winter air, the firefighter heads back up to the loft to grab the last of his tools and say goodbye to Severide and Kidd. 

“I’ll see you guys later,” Matt offers as he picks up his bag with the rest of his tools, looking at the couple standing in the kitchen. 

“You coming to Molly’s tonight?” Severide nods in agreement to Stella’s question, to which the Captain nods. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Sylvie should be there too, she’s feeling a lot better today.” When they share a look between the two of them, Matt’s brow furrows, feeling like he’s on the outside of a joke. “What?” 

“Nothing, just...you seem to be hanging out with Brett more and more. You call her Sylvie, even at work,” Stella points out, and Sev grins. 

“You’re happier than you’ve been in a while is all, Case. We’ve missed it. After Gab-“ 

Matt stiffens and gives a tight smile. “I should go or I’ll be late. See you tonight.” With that, the man leaves, not wanting to talk about his ex. He’s not in any mood to think about her, he wants to have a good day. Matt makes it to his truck in record time and heads towards the house he’ll be working on, grimacing as the rain that’s been lightly drizzling picks up some. 

All in all, the job doesn’t take as long as he’d thought originally. It’s seven when Matt’s finishing up the last window, making sure it fits and is sealed completely. It’s something he’ll always take pride in, making sure he does things right the first time. Matt’s never been told to do something over or that someone doesn’t like what he’s done, and he intends on keeping it that way. Allen pays him, Matt thanks him again and then he starts toward his truck, shivering fully now. The time spent outside; nearly three and a half hours, have allowed rain to soak into his coat and through his green henley, enough that even when he starts blaring the heat, he’s still chilled, hair damp. At least his boots are waterproof. 

Deciding to run by the loft and change, Matt shoots a quick text to Sylvie. He’s not sure why he feels the need to tell her he’s behind, but his fingers type out a couple of sentences and hit send before he can really analyze himself. 

_ Changing and then heading to Molly’s. Can’t wait to see you. We’ve all missed having you around.  _

God he sounds stupid. He’s seen her every day. Why would he say that? Huffing, the firefighter goes to his bedroom and opens the door to his small closet, looking for something to wear. His first initial instinct is a sweatshirt, feeling as cold as he is, but almost immediately kicks the idea away. Even if he’s not on duty, Matt’s still a Captain, and while he could get away with dressing like that as a Lieutenant, he doesn’t want to try now. Logically the man knows he’s not on CFD time, but the whole firehouse hangs out at Molly’s, hell, so do  _ other _ firehouses. Matt’s not going to get caught looking anything but put together, not at his rank. 

Taking his wet clothes off, Matt shivers when cool air meets his exposed skin, and he makes quick work of pulling a black undershirt on. Seeing the dark green sweater Sylvie had once complimented him on, he tugs it over his head and smoothes it out before reaching for dark jeans and his belt. Once he’s decided he looks good enough, Matt pulls on his navy jacket and makes his way back to his truck and over to Molly’s, excited to see Sylvie and the rest of his friends. 

Pulling up five minutes before eight, Matt turns the old truck off and gets out, rubbing at his neck. His body’s sore from the physical labor hours prior, not used to it anymore, thanks to more than a year of not taking any side jobs, trying desperately to rebuild his life after Gabby leaving him, his apartment burning down, Otis dying, and every other damn thing life has thrown at him lately. At least Sylvie had come back. Sylvie.  _ Right _ . 

Moving into Molly’s, Matt’s greeted with the usual clamor of people talking and laughing. Unlike usual, tonight the noise is grating rather than comforting, and though he’s been thoroughly looking forward to coming and hanging out with everyone, now that he’s here, Matt just feels tired and worn out. Looking around, he spots Herrmann and Stella behind the bar. Severide’s with a few squad guys from another house, Mouch is talking with Tony, Ritter and Capp. Moving further in, letting the warmth wrap around him, the Captain finally spies the shoulder length blonde hair he’s been looking forward to seeing, sitting with Foster and Gallo. 

“Hey Captain! What can I get you?” 

Herrmann’s smiling at him, the crooked smile that he’s come to find calming. Though not old enough to truly be his father, Matt’s always thought of the older man as somewhat of a father figure, always having helped guide him and show him the ropes, especially when he first arrived at 51. 

“Just a beer tonight Herrmann,” Matt walks up to the bar, accepting his usual IPA with a small smile. “Looks busy tonight.” 

“Yeah, Foster said something about telling a few friends about Molly’s? All I know is that she can tell whoever she wants if it brings in more business.” 

Someone asks for a drink behind him, so Matt takes that as his queue to go make his way to Sylvie and the others. 

“Hey Casey,” Foster sees him first, making Sylvie and Gallo look towards him too. 

“Hey guys, mind if I join?”

The spot next to Gallo is empty, putting him across from Sylvie. It’s not as good as being next to her, but it means he’s able to look at her, which is a good second. The Captain sits and smiles. 

“You look like you’re feeling better,” Matt comments, and even though he’s just seen her yesterday, she looks like she’s gained more color, eyes less dull and tired. 

“I am, thank you. Glad to be back with the living,” Sylvie jokes, scrunching up her nose like she does sometimes when she’s happy. He thinks it’s adorable. 

As they talk, Matt feels himself getting lost in the conversation. He doesn’t feel bad, but doesn’t feel particularly great either. As he swallows, his throat starts to hurt, making him want to cut it off as soon as possible. 

“I’m going to grab some water, anyone want anything?” Matt stands and looks at the others around the table. Gallo and Foster shake their heads, but Sylvie nods, holding out her wine glass. “Rosé?” 

“Coming right up.” 

Heading back up to the bar, the firefighter smiles at Kidd, who’s pouring some kind of juice into a glass with liquor. 

“Hey Casey, what’re you getting?” 

Clearing his throat quietly, he feels his temple give a low, achy throb. “I need a glass of water and some rosé in this,” he holds the wine glass up. When Stella takes it, Matt rubs at his face, that worn down feeling washing over him again like a wave. 

“Here you go,” Stella turns back around, handing him both glasses, which he takes gratefully. 

“Thanks.” 

When he arrives back at the table, Gallo’s in the middle of some elaborate story, so Matt sits quietly and hands Sylvie her drink, earning a large smile from the blonde. He stays quiet the whole time, sipping his water slowly, trying not to focus on his headache or sore throat, and ultimately failing. He’s so tired, more tired than he usually is from a job, especially one as small as putting in windows. The Captain brushes the feelings aside, trying and failing to join in on the conversation. 

Half an hour later, Matt’s ready to head back to the loft. They’ve all dispersed from the table near the back, instead Gallo and Foster are now sitting with Ritter at the long bar, and Matt’s with Severide and one of his friends from an old house. He feels slightly awkward, like he’s invading a private moment. Sylvie, who’s talking with Herrmann about something, looks at him again and gives him an odd look. She gestures for him to come over, so he does, rising instantly to his feet and excusing himself. 

“Are you okay? You seem quieter than usual tonight, not yourself,” Sylvie observes, speaking softly even though Herrmann’s now back to bartending. Her hand rests on his shoulder, and Matt shivers again, though he’s not sure if it’s because he’s cold this time, or if it’s from how close they are. 

“Yeah, I’m fine Sylvie.  _ Really _ .” He adds the last word when his sentence earns him an unimpressed eyebrow raise. “I’m just tired from working today.” Matt tries to give her the brightest smile he can, but even that falls flat against the way he’s feeling. 

“Matt...come on. _Talk_ _to_ _me_. Did something happen? Is Christie okay?” 

Feeling oddly touched at the fact she asks about his sister, even bothers to think of her, Matt blinks and catches her hand when she finally drops it from his shoulder. It’s softer and smaller than his own. He squeezes it in comfort. 

“She’s fine. I guess I just…” he trails off a moment, letting their hands drop, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. “I’m not feeling all that well tonight, have a small headache,” Matt shrugs as Sylvie watches him. It’s true, even if it’s not the  _ whole _ truth. He doesn’t want to worry her, she’s been through enough this past week. 

“ _ Oh _ , I’m sorry.” The paramedic sounds almost relieved, making him wonder what she’d been thinking originally. “Are you...can I get you anything?” 

“I had some water. Honestly I think I might just head back to the loft. The job today wore me out more than I realized, I guess. Sorry for not being more with it tonight,” Matt apologizes. “Maybe we can get lunch or something tomorrow. Give you another chance to get out of the house.” 

Call it a date Casey, come  _ on _ . Just say it’s a date. 

He watches her, how she shifts minutely forward, smiles. “I’d like that. We could do the cafe on Woodlawn?” 

“Sounds…”  _ Like a date. _ “Great. 11?” Damn it. 

“Perfect. I hope your head feels better Matt. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Matt wants to hug her, feels like a magnet is tugging him towards her, but instead he just nods and claps her shoulder gently, thumb rubbing across her soft sweater before turning and walking toward the door. He says goodbye to everyone, nodding when Severide asks if he’s going back. 

“Yeah, I’m beat. Ready to lay down. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” A few waves and then the man is out the door. 

The walk back to Matt’s truck, though only a few hundred feet, feels like it’s taking forever. Cold, windy air is making its way through his jacket. The sudden silence only amplifies his headache thrumming in his skull. It takes just over ten minutes to get back to the loft, during which Matt debates needing to take a shower. The urge to wash the days dirt and sweat from working ultimately wins out. The blonde drags himself into the shower, thankful the warm water helps his body relax.  Stepping out of the spray and wrapping a towel around his waist, Matt brushes his teeth and makes sure his hair is only damp from towel drying before heading into his room. The last thing the man thinks about before crawling in bed, hoodie and sweatpants on, is Sylvie and her beautiful smile, happy he’s seeing her tomorrow. 

\+ + +

Matt wouldn’t call himself a morning person, but he’s definitely not the kind of person to sleep in either. Most mornings he’s up around seven, unless it’s shift morning, then he’s up an hour earlier, making sure he’s got enough time to get situated at the firehouse before roll call. The only time Matt sleeps in is if he’s not gone to bed until two or three in the morning, or if he’s getting sick. 

At 8:21 AM Matt blinks awake, feeling like he’s wading through quicksand. His eyes are heavy, and everything in him is telling him to close them, to allow sleep to pull him under once more. His body registers that everything’s sore, as if he’s been beat up, skin sensitive. His throat’s sore, his head hurts, he’s freezing. The achiness in his bones makes him feel thoroughly uncomfortable, like he needs to move around more to make it stop. He shifts twice but nothing helps, so the blonde tries to ignore it. Seeing the time on the clock, the firefighter burrows back into his pillow and blankets and falls asleep again, shivering. 

\+ + +

Sylvie fiddles with her phone, waiting at a small table by the window inside Plein Air Cafe. It’s 11:15 and there’s still no sign of Matt. Usually the man is early, almost compulsively so. For him to not be here beforehand is unusual, let alone on time. Unlocking her phone screen, the paramedic bites her lip and, instead of sending another text (because four in thirty minutes is kind of sad), she clicks his name and listens as the phone rings. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Matt Casey, sorry I’m not at my phone. Leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as possible. Thanks!” 

“...Hey Matt. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I know we had plans for lunch...but I probably got the wrong time, that sounds like me; right?” Sylvie jokes, but it feels forced. “Just...call me back or text me, so I know you’re alright. Bye.” 

Sighing, the blonde rubs at her face and sets her phone back on the table, staring out at snowy Chicago, people bundled in coats and kids catching snowflakes on their tongues. It would be perfect if Matt was here to enjoy it too. 

At 11:30, Sylvie stands, suddenly feeling like something is wrong. Matt’s a perfect gentleman. He’s on time to everything, he makes sure everyone gets food before he does, he doesn’t sleep until everyone’s back in their bunks and safe. For him not to show up to...whatever this is, a date? A friendly lunch? It’s not like him, and she feels nervous energy start to consume her. Remembering last night, how he’d seemed a little pale and had admitted to a headache, Sylvie makes her mind up and goes to her car. Her mind doesn’t think to text Stella or Severide, all she can think about is Matt. 

She reaches the loft in twelve minutes, and breaks three driving laws on her way. Peking, she spots Matt’s old truck, confirming he’s still here. She’s unsure if that’s a good thing or not. Too antsy to take the elevator, she jogs up the stairs to the third floor, going straight for the last door in the hall, knocking loudly. Less than half a minute later, Stella’s opening the door, looking utterly confused. 

“Brett, hey! What’re you d-“ 

“Where’s Matt?” 

She walks in, hand on her watch, twisting it nervously. Severide’s in the kitchen cooking something on the stovetop. “Hey Brett!” His brows are drawn up, surprised to see her. 

“Where’s  _ Matt _ ?” 

The couple both look even more confused now, and they share a look. 

“His trucks outside…” Sylvie adds helplessly. Her friends probably think she's crazy, for being so worried. She hopes they're right, there's nothing to worry about. He's fine. 

“We didn’t think he was home. It’s been silent all day here. Go check his room, he might have lost track of time if he’s reading,” Severide offers her, gesturing to the door to their right. 

Maybe he’s right. Maybe Matt’s engrossed in some nonfiction history book or something, totally unaware of his phone that’s probably on silent. She can hope, anyway. Nodding, she goes and knocks on the door, ignoring both Stella and Kelly watching her. When there’s no answer, the paramedic tries the handle, relieved when it’s unlocked, and pushes the door forward, slipping in and shutting it back. 

She’s never been in Matt’s room before; never even seen a glimpse of it while hanging out with Stella, the door is always closed. It’s all lighter wood, the walls white, the furniture and most of the decor not even his. Sylvie’s eyes land on his bed; all dark grey bedding and a navy quilt, and sees Matt’s body laying underneath the sheets, a hunter green blanket over his upper half from underneath the quilt. 

Sylvie walks over, crouching down next to him, the bed lower to the ground than her own. She’s sure that the bed is something Severide used to use before Kidd moved in. The firefighters face is pale, at least from what she can see of it, most of it covered by his blanket. Even asleep she can see the circles under his eyes. 

“Matt...Matt can you wake up?” She keeps her voice low, hand shaking his shoulder gently. A noise akin to a whine escapes his lips, but the only thing it earns her after is him shifting further down into his bed, rubbing his face into his pillow. If she wasn’t so worried, Sylvie would find it unbearably cute. 

“Hey, Matt, I need you to wake up for a minute,” she tries again, and this time she’s rewarded with his eyes fluttering open.

His head lifts half an inch off the pillow, moving the blanket away as it drops. Matt’s cheeks are fever flushed, skin pale. The circles under his eyes seem darker now that he’s semi awake. Before he can question her or even talk, a low, tired cough tumbles from his lungs, and he’s awake enough to turn as quickly as he can, muffling the coughs half into his pillow and half into his blanket. When they die down, he turns back, looking like a lost puppy. 

“Wh-? Sylvie?” Matt’s voice is raspy and his throat sounds swollen. It makes her wince, having experienced this same state a week ago. 

“Hey,” Sylvie smiles softly, and Matt’s confused, lost expression drops and he’s suddenly frowning, upset. 

“Lunch….we were supposed to...I ruined our date…what times’it?” 

It’s as if her brain short circuits. A date? That’s what it had been? Smiling, her stomach twists, but this time it’s full of butterflies, the good kind. She shakes her head. 

“You didn’t ruin it. There’s plenty more dates ahead,” Sylvie admits, confident that there will be. Trying to refocus, she moves a palm to his forehead, feeling undeniably sympathetic when she feels the heat pooling off of him. “It’s almost noon. You’re burning up Matt.” 

Watching him, Sylvie can see the gears turning in his head, trying to process everything she’s just said. 

“I slept almost fourteen hours…Sorry I didn’t show up.” 

Debating on whether to kiss him or hit him, she settles for a fond eye roll. “Matt, it’s okay. I was worried, not angry. I’m just glad you’re relatively okay.  _ I’m _ sorry I gave you my germs.” 

A smile spreads across Matt’s face, a little dopey and bleary. “Your germs are better than anyone else’s.” 

Fever talking, Sylvie reminds herself. But then again...he’d said date. 

“I’m going to get you medicine, you should rest.” Matt’s apparently tired enough that he merely nods and shuts his eyes again, which makes it easier on everyone. 

Slipping back out, Sylvie sees both her friends staring at her, instantly feeling warmth rise to her cheeks. “He’s uhm, he’s really sick,” she shakes her head slightly, trying to once again focus on the task at hand. “Do you guys have a thermometer? And ibuprofen?” 

“Damn, that sucks,” Severide frowns, as Stella nods and goes to their bedroom, coming out a minute later with a plastic, child proof bottle of pills and a thermometer. 

“Thank you, I’ll let you guys know how he is in a little bit,” Sylvie offers, taking that and the bottle of water from Sev’s outstretched hand, going back into the Captain’s bedroom. 

“You still awake?” 

A groan. 

“Open up,” Sylvie sets the pills and water down, holding the thermometer out. At first she assumes he’s going to take it, but the man just opens his mouth instead, so she slips it under his tongue, not sure they’ve ever done anything so intimate together. Even she had grabbed it when she’d been sick. 

As they wait, the paramedic looks around again, taking in Matt’s room. Though there’s not much in the way of decor, she does note a bookshelf full of what she guesses are second hand books. A picture frame catches her eye on the second shelf. It must be something he’d managed to salvage from the fire, because the golden frame looks slightly burned around certain areas, but the photo inside is intact. 

It’s of Matt and a woman, though she doesn’t recognize her. She’s got long, dark hair, grey blue eyes and her skin is sun kissed, as she stands with him, one arm around him, clad in a black bikini. Matt’s shirtless, hair a little lighter from the sun, she thinks, and he’s smiling widely, scruff on his face almost in beard territory. They look happy. 

The thermometer beeps and she turns to look at it, frowning when she sees ‘101.7’ light up on the screen. 

“S’Hallie,” Matt says, eyes gazing over at the photo. “You never met her, but you would have liked each other,” he explains, coughing quietly at the end. Sylvie’s heart aches. His dead fiancé. She’d not been there for it, but she’s heard the horror story from Gabby and Mills, and she can’t imagine the pain he’d had to endure. She thinks maybe she can relate somewhat, after losing Julie, but even then, she’d known her for a few months, Matt had been engaged to Hallie. 

“I  _ know _ I would have liked her. I also know you need rest. You need to take these pills and then sleep, okay?” 

Matt does as he’s asked, takes the pills without fighting it. She’s sure he’s too miserable to not want the pills, he looks like death warmed over. When Sylvie finally gets up from sitting on the bed, she hesitantly runs a hand through Matt’s hair, affection swelling throughout her. He’s handsome ever when sick, still kind and caring. She really does hope he means what he’s said about their lunch being a date. The paramedic goes to move and leave, wanting to give him some peace and quiet, but then a hand is catching her wrist. Turning, she takes in Matt, in all his miserable glory, looking sad and somewhat pouty. 

“Please stay?” 

Flashes of him staying with her while she was sick pop up in her mind. He’d stayed above the covers, but he’d held her and rubbed her back and been so caring. Slowly, she moves and takes her shoes off, then slides onto his full sized bed, amazed at how much smaller it feels next to him, compared to her own queen sized one. She stays on top of the covers, but pulls the quilt up some. 

“Better?” 

Earning a nod, Sylvie lets herself soak up the moment as Matt shifts and presses his face to torso and arm, mumbling a thank you. She’s happy to do it. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” she echoes the promise from a week ago, letting her own eyes shut, tired from all the excitement the past few days. Maybe one day this will be their normal, both of them curled up in bed, caring for each other. She hopes it is, she thinks, as she drifts off against Matt yet again, feeling safe and secure. 


End file.
